


Child of The Moon

by kaizuka, TalesofNonsense



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication at it's best, Return of the Guardians AU, Slow Burn, Victor as a Jack!Frost incarnation, Victor is clueless and can manipulate ice/snow, Yuuri is...Yuuri, spiced up with a little bit of drama, the other guardians will show up in some way - just wait and see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizuka/pseuds/kaizuka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesofNonsense/pseuds/TalesofNonsense
Summary: Yuuri can’t hold back a breathless laugh, elated at having skated Stammi Vicino completely from beginning to end.Something about it this time had seemed different, in a good way. A true final performance, Yuuri thinks and his eyes fall shut, wondering what Victor must have felt during his last performance.“That was amazing!”  someone suddenly cries out and Yuuri freezes, horrified at the thought of being caught by whomsoever skating his idol’s famous free program. He spins in search for the unknown voice and nearly topples over when he finds it’s owner: in front of him stands Victor Nikiforov, looking very much alive, when he was, in fact, supposed to be dead.





	1. Prologue: For Now I Am Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I’m excited to bring you a collaboration between [**talesofnonsense**](http://talesofnonsense.tumblr.com) and I! This work is one of the more unique ones for me, because she came up with the main storyline—I’m just here to bring that idea into fic form, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with her and her incredible ideas! _Please_ give her and her plot producing brain some love when you have the chance! ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the accompanying playlist here: [Child of the Moon OST](https://open.spotify.com/user/nhalyia/playlist/02ZiCaSVgfblyqYQC08TTN)

Something sparkles in Victor’s memories, but other than that, he can’t remember anything visually, and attempts to recall anything further calls forth a crippling headache that thunders around the inside of his mind. But what Victor _can_ be sure of are the sounds that surround him. The hiss of metal against ice takes the forefront of these memories, more often than not accompanied with the occasional low groan of the ice holding beneath his weight. The soft whisper of the copse of trees surrounding him plays in the background as well, their leaves producing hushed whispers as they flutter against one another in the biting wind. 

The cold is something that Victor remembers too. Sharp, biting wind, chilly enough to pierce the outer layer of his coat and seep through his skin and into his bones. Then—so suddenly—the feeling of the chill growing almost unbearable, wintry and unforgiving from all sides.

But that’s all that’s left of Victor’s memories. Fleeting glimpses of pieces of a past that make absolutely no sense even when put together. 

However, Victor doesn’t really mind.

There are ways to keep himself busy—a countless number of ways. As lonely as it could get, there are thousands of possibilities when you’re an invisible man with “magical powers of winter”. (None of which included anything perverted, mind you—Victor is still a gentleman, after all.) In fact, Victor had endeavored to keep himself occupied, working up new and exciting ways with which to distract himself enough so as to not notice the passage of time. And how much of it _had_ passed? He couldn't tell. Sometimes, Victor couldn’t help but wonder if it was a mistake to let the memory of the day he woke up surrounded by snow, but not in any way bothered by the cold, fade far into the recesses of his mind along with the few and vague recollections he very rarely revisited. He'd forgotten most of it. But, Victor would tell himself not half a second later, what did a fragmented, nearly nonexistent memory matter when he was gifted with incredible powers over wind and ice that enabled him to do… well, anything and everything?

For one thing, building an ice castle in the most remote parts of the tundra? Doable. Creating a whole reflective city made entirely out of shining, pristine ice? Done. A pillar of ice higher than the tallest man made building, the tallest structure, from which to leap off of in the most daring skydiving feat ever to have been accomplished? Please. Victor could do all that and more with his eyes closed—and he did. Not to mention the many other, more mundane ways with which Victor kept himself busy.

Victor stares through the branches of the leaf barren tree he’d perched on, blinking almost owlishly through its wood. The chatter of approaching teenagers only grows louder as they walk closer, their boots crunching through the snow. Victor waits with bated breath, ducking low even though there’s absolutely no chance that they would be able to see him at all—a fact that Victor almost vehemently shoves into the back of his mind, focusing instead on the color of the bobbing pom pom on a hat against the white of the snow around them.

When finally (finally!) the majority of the group has wandered under his tree, Victor lets a sly smile take over his face and abruptly presses his hands downward, violently disturbing the branch he’d been perched on. The large clump of heavy snow barely makes a whisper in the air as it plummets down, landing with a muted thud on the teenagers below him. 

Muffled shrieks begin to rise up into the chilly sky, and Victor leans back amusedly, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck with an accomplished air. His eyes slide to the pom pom hat, lying forlornly on its side after having been knocked from its wearer’s head with the force of the snow’s impact, and Victor sits up to swing his other leg over the branch, bracing himself to jump. 

The air carries him down gently, and Victor hardly feels its chilling nip against his skin anymore. Rather, he relishes against the feel of the cold air against his face, feeling tempted to toss his scarf to the wind. But, as with his coat and well worn boots, Victor doesn’t feel too inclined to throw away the last bits of his past away, as frosted over as they are. 

Victor leans down to peer at the soft wool of the beanie just as heads begin to pop up and out of the snow, many of them spluttering indignantly. One boy—the boy who’d had been wearing the pom pom hat—reaches up to comb at his hair, looking around blearily for the hat that isn’t his. Victor childishly sticks out a tongue at him and waves a hand at the barren tree he’d just vacated. The wood gives the lightest of shudders, and yet another clump of snow crumples down and straight onto the unhappy teenage boy’s face. 

With a chuckle, Victor flicks his hand upwards, tossing the hat up into the air and keeping it there in order to direct its path with a pointed finger. He makes the hat dance along the wind as he walks next to it, somewhat indulgently letting it loop along the wind. Soon enough, Victor’s back at the playground, where the inconsolable cries of a child can soon be heard. 

“M-my mama made that hat,” blubbers the kid as Victor comes closer, and Victor cocks his head to the side. The nerve of some teenagers, really! “She might get mad at me if I come home without it…”

His friends, all tiny in stature, crowd around him worriedly, offering consolation in the way that only children can.

“Don’t worry, it looked ugly on him anyway! He had big ears!”

“Do you want some of my cookie? Okay… how about my animal crackers? Except you can’t have the elephants, I like those.”

“I hope he freezes his balls off!”

The hat nearly drops from the air as Victor reels backwards, eyeing the offender almost warily. _Honestly, kids these days…_ And then, _well. That wouldn’t have been a bad idea._ Still, Victor casts his eyes about for _some_ sort of parental supervision, receiving his answer in the form of a snoozing grandparent, leaned back against the support of a wooden bench and snoring obnoxiously.

Victor shakes his head and merely flicks his hand in the direction of the children before him, watching the colorful pom pom hat float and weave gently through the air to land against the child’s shoes. 

He’s thanked with four surprised and elated gasps in high voices, and Victor smiles when the first child eagerly reaches down to pick up the pom pom hat and press it against his head. “Look! It came back!”

“Winter gave it back to you,” another child whispers, and the hat’s little ball shudders in an eagerly tightened grip.

“Y-you’re right!” the first child says.

“Wroooong,” interjects another, and the first two children quiet almost immediately. Victor stares down at this third child with no little amount of distaste, feeling something curl almost painfully in his chest as the kid continues. “You two are so stupid. Winter? That’s a _season_. There’s nothing magical about it. I bet you guys still believe in Santa, don’t you?”

“I was just kidding!” the first child says, ignoring the crestfallen look of the one wearing the hat. “There’s no such thing as magic."

Victor feels himself waver.

“Look, let’s just go. I want to continue playing,” says the fourth mulishly, and her words are met with collective agreement.

Three sets of little feet dash off in the direction of the playground, and Victor looks down forlornly at the child with the pom pom hat. His crestfallen expression mirrors exactly how Victor is feeling, and he lets out a heavy breath as rakes a hand through his hair.

“Thank you, winter.”

Victor blinks slowly, watching the child gently press a hand against the pom pom on his head and walk forward, staring sullenly at the ground. 

“You’re welcome,” Victor says softly, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets and watching as they all rush off to the slide, pom pom issue all but forgotten. The words of the third child had taken a significant toll on his heart, and Victor shuts his eyes, already feeling the need to seek respite. “Play safe.”

Victor turns to go, flicking his eyes back to the old man on the bench. He sighs and backtracks, his feet leaving no indentation into the powder around him. Once he’s next to the kids’ grandfather, Victor reaches down to press a cool hand against wrinkled skin, waiting until the old man blinks blearily up into the sky. “Whuh—“ 

The grandfather sits up, dazedly looking around for his grandkids, and smiles when he finds them careening down a small slide just a little ways away. Half a second later, the old man looks around again, frowning slightly. He’d probably been dreaming, but hadn’t there been someone next to him just now? He could have sworn he’d seen piercing blue eyes for just a moment…

But Victor is long gone, and the grandfather shrugs, the thought already fading from his mind. 

 

— — —

 

The best thing about being… whatever he was, was that Victor finds it incredibly easy to travel from snowy place to snowy place, appearing where he’d like in a flurry of snowflakes. Of course, that meant traveling to places that barely got any snow was next to impossible, like, say, California for instance. And don’t even get him started about the impossibility of transporting himself anywhere for a tropical island vacation… Even the off-winter seasons left him sluggish and dormant, confining him to one city until the cool breeze of winter began to roll around once again. Then, and only then, does Victor find himself traveling to the most bustling of snowy cities, relishing in the white of the snow and the sparkle of frost, sometimes even finding himself boosted by the holiday cheer surrounding him. Christmas always felt like a special time for Victor, and even though it was indeed a lonely occasion for him, seeing the snow illuminated softly by the softly lit decorations brought an unexplainable feeling of warmth somewhere within his chest. 

Ever since this magical, frosty existence had started for him, one of the very first things that Victor had discovered was that no one— _no one_ —knew that he existed. No one could hear him, see him—no one could even touch him, a fact that he’d realized upon attempting to grab at a passing man for answers, and having to watch in horror as his hand had passed right through the man’s completely tangible form. 

So, Victor was probably a ghost. (A ghost with magic powers?) 

Victor doesn’t know how many years have passed exactly (especially since he doesn’t even remember when he was born. Or when he died. _If_ he even died), so each and every year, he’d attempted to keep himself occupied. It wasn’t too hard of a feat, when you considered the aforementioned herculean feats he’d accomplished with the help of the ice and snow around him. However, there was one other thing that Victor did actually remember.

Victor _adored_ ice skating.

For that very reason, when he wasn’t building incredible icy skyscrapers or self made winter rollercoasters in someplace barren and far away, Victor sweeps into whatever rinks he can, indoor and outdoor, bringing with him a slightly chilling breeze in order to observe people aimlessly floating around the ice. In groups, in wobbly pairs, or sliding solo along the rink; Victor would watch eagerly for a little while before heading out onto the ice himself, summoning blades of ice beneath his feat and touching down onto the ground to push himself along the man made rink himself. Victor doesn’t remember where this love came from—only that ever since he had first stumbled upon an outdoor rink while exploring Russia, he’d felt like he had finally come home. 

Now, Victor yawns into a gloved hand as he wanders down the streets of an obscure Japanese city, glancing around almost aimlessly. 

He’d already hit all the more popular cities’ ice skating rinks, and had found himself disenchanted with how crowded they’d been. Rather than force himself to watch his limbs pass through yet another group of (admittedly adorable) ice skating children, Victor had left in search of more quieter, and less crowded, ice rinks. Something about this city had tugged him here, and Victor blinks at the blue of the ocean, crashing almost hypnotically against the shore. His eyes follow the shoreline until they lift up to scan the street before him, and Victor’s eyes widen at the sight of a rather official looking castle, high above the tree-line.

“Ninjas?” Victor says contemplatively, a half smile quirking up one side of his lips. “Interesting!”

In an instant, the winter wind carries him towards the imposing looking structure, raising him up and up into the sky the closer he gets. Just a peek, and then he’d go looking for an ice skating rink—

A tiny cry catches his ear, and Victor pauses midair, a flurry of snow encircling him as he cranes his head around curiously. A baby bird? An actual baby?

The cry sounds again, this time accompanied by a weak sniffle, and Victor finally finds its source in the form of a small, hunched over figure. Victor lets the air around him almost collapse, gently taking him down until he lands in front of the child, the breeze of his descent ruffling short black hair. Lo and behold, the child’s crying had brought him to an ice skating rink, and Victor eyes the worn out sign almost fondly. There’s another wet sniffle, and Victor looks back at the boy just as the child looks up to glance around him, blinking when he sees no one there. 

Victor coos internally at the chubby ruddy face of the child, and has to stop himself from reaching out and pinching his cheeks. Nevertheless, Victor crouches down concernedly, hardly caring that the child can’t see him. 

“What’s your name?” Victor asks gently, flicking his wrist and watching as the wind ruffles the child’s hair. “Why are you crying, little one?”

The boy looks through Victor to stare dolefully out onto the concrete before him, sadly wiping at a running nose. 

“I’m terrible at handling crying,” Victor murmurs anxiously at the sight of a fresh wave of tears filling up the kid’s eyes. “What should I do?”

A small bark startles Victor out of his reverie, and he watches in amazement as a tiny brown ball of fluff careens out of nowhere to scramble onto the little boy’s lap, delightedly lapping at chubby cheeks. 

“Vicchan!” the little boy says, laughter already returning into his voice, and Victor sighs in relief. Of course, he freezes the next moment when the puppy stops and wheels around to stare at him, button nose twitching. 

_What—_ Victor’s eyes widen as the puppy scrambles towards him, its tiny puff of tail wagging slowly and warily. He can’t help it—he hasn’t been this close to a dog in ages it feels like, and Victor’s hand lifts up to pet at soft fur. He chides himself for feeling disappointed when it passes through the little dog, and Victor shakes his head as if to dispel the resulting feeling of dismay. Victor watches as the puppy backtracks to settle itself once again the boy’s lap, and the kid presses damp cheeks against the puppy’s fur. 

“Nishigori said I wouldn’t be a good skater,” the boy begins to mumble, and Victor furrows his brow. “And he says that all the time, but today my classmates found out I was skating too, Vicchan! And they were a _hundred_ times meaner than Nishigori!” 

Victor presses a hand against his heart, eyes widening. “Children are so cruel,” Victor says, and the puppy twitches its ears at him, “but you shouldn’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re saying.”

“They said I was too fat and that the ice would probably break under me!” The puppy whines at the distress in the child’s voice, and Victor feels like doing much of the same. “And Ken s-said, ‘Yuuri probably needs to be pushed across the ice by ten people just so he can move!’” The child—Yuuri—lets out another soft sob at this, and Victor can only look on, feeling disheartened. 

“Maybe I should quit,” Yuuri begins in a tiny voice, and Victor stands and strides purposefully towards the ice rink’s automatic doors. The puppy slides out of Yuuri’s lap to stumble towards Victor, and Victor bends and wiggles his fingers at the puppy as he leans ever closer to the double doors. “After all, I’ll never be as good as Vi—“

The hum of the automatic doors as they slide open cuts Yuuri off, and Victor watches closely as the child spins around, shocked. “Wait—Vicchan, don’t go in there! Wait a second!” 

Yuuri scrambles through the doors in pursuit of his puppy, who was, in turn, chasing Victor down the cement walkway of the building. No one is manning the desk, and—even better—no one is on the rink. The entire place seemed completely bare, save for a kid, his puppy, and Victor, who no one could even see in the first place. 

“Vicchan!” Yuuri hisses as Victor floats over the desk to peruse the selection of children’s sized skates. “Hey, wait!” 

“I don’t even know his size,” Victor realizes, glancing back at the kid. His eyes widen when he sees the glint of metal poking out of the bag on Yuuri’s back, and he’s behind the kid in a heartbeat, creating a sudden flurry that drags the ice skates up and out of Yuuri’s backpack. The kid yelps at the sound of his skates tumbling to the floor, and he looks at them almost warily as Vicchan waddles up to plop down next to the boy. 

Victor stares at the kid staring at the skates, and Vicchan stares at his paws before abruptly rolling over and going to sleep. 

“Maybe just for a little while,” Yuuri says softly, and Victor enthusiastically pumps a fist into the air, feeling triumphant. His own blades of ice are on his feet before the boy had even finished lacing his own boots, and Victor flies out onto the ice, impatiently watching Yuuri as he tentatively steps out into the rink. The boy looks downcast, keeping his eyes glued to his pants as he unenthusiastically skates forward. Victor sighs and circles him worriedly. 

“Come on,” Victor coaxes, gently turning on the ice and willing the boy to do the same. “It’s easy. Just…”

Yuuri takes a steadying breath before propelling himself forward, his arms self-consciously tight around his body. Victor decides he’s having none of that, and claps his hands sharply. Immediately, an unsuspecting Yuuri is buffeted by a slight gust of wind that sends the boy off balance and windmilling his arms to keep steady. 

“Hey!” Yuuri says, affronted, and Victor laughs. The child studies his skates almost accusingly, looking affronted that they would try anything of their own accord. “That was weird.”

Victor does it again, and Yuuri yelps as he’s sent gliding across the rink against his will, Victor following close behind. Victor loves children, mainly for the fact that they don’t really question much, and soon enough, Yuuri’s eyes are closed as his laughter fills the rink while the wind carts him around the ice. Victor’s beaming now, too, and he laughs ecstatically along with Yuuri as he waves both hands to float Yuuri gently up into the air, grinning when the child strikes a pose as he spins. 

Yuuri begins to skate of his own volition, and Victor leans against the ice rink’s barrier, only moving to summon wind to propel Yuuri even faster when the boy begins to lose speed. 

It’s a fun game, and soon enough the skating rink is filled with Yuuri’s delighted laughter, punctuated with elated yells as the wind takes him up higher than any normal boy should have ever been able to jump. Victor claps cheerfully at the sight and sound of Yuuri’s happiness, earlier issues and tears left behind in the tracks of his ice skates.

“Yuuri!” a sharp adult voice says, and Yuuri stumbles on a jump. Victor panics and darts forward, arms outstretched… only to have Yuuri fall straight through his arms and land with a yelp on the ice. Victor can only stare as Yuuri stumbles back upright, a pout borne from a combination of the fall and being caught skating on the ice. _I should have just cushioned his fall. Why did I try to catch him when I can’t touch… anything?_

Skating unsupervised seemed to be the main issue, apparently, and Victor childishly mutters, “but _I_ was here.”

“I told you that it isn’t safe for you to skate alone,” the staff member chides, and Yuuri pouts in the way that only a young child can. 

“I was skating with _winter_ ,” Yuuri says churlishly, and Victor freezes—not literally, as per usual, but close enough. All his senses suddenly seem heightened, and Victor finally melts into a crouching position, staring at Yuuri with wide eyes.

“Can you… see me?” Victor says softly, his voice echoing in the largeness of the rink. For the first time in a long while, Victor feels hope, an actual feeling of warmth _twice_ as great as the feeling that the sight of holiday lights gives him—

“Winter sent a wind buddy to play with me, and it helped me with my skating,” Yuuri continues sincerely, and Victor leans back abruptly to land on his backside, limbs suddenly jelly-like with the onslaught of disappointment.

_Oh._

“Alright,” the adult says indulgently, quickly switching out of lecture-mode to stoop down and offer Yuuri a hand. Victor watches blankly as their hands clasp together, and he looks down at his own, curling long fingers into a lonely looking fist. “I’m glad. But your mother called, and she’d like you to be home now.”

“Okay.”

Victor lifts his arm sluggishly, and waves a hand at both Yuuri and Vicchan as they’re carted off by the worried staff member. He can’t help but smile, though, when Yuuri looks back at the ice rink almost wistfully.

“Bye,” Yuuri says, his small voice carrying over the short distance.

“Bye,” Victor echoes as the automatic doors slide shut behind Yuuri. “I’ll visit you again next time. Don’t listen to what the other kids say in school.”

The doors come together with hardly a click, and Victor is left alone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **Accompanying songs**  
> 
> For Now I Am Winter (by Ólafur Arnalds)


	2. By Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up friends long time no see!!⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ Collaborating has been quite an experience, and I am proud to say that working with talesofnonsense has been amazing<3 Thank you to those who have read and commented so far as well, we appreciate every bit of feedback. Further notes on the plot (and more) can be seen below, so after reading, be sure to take a look at that note as well to catch a peek inside Nons' plot producing mind! -kaizuka
> 
> Listen to the accompanying Playlist here: [Child of the Moon OST](https://open.spotify.com/user/nhalyia/playlist/02ZiCaSVgfblyqYQC08TTN)

Yuuri winces a little at the creak of the Ice Castle’s worn down door as he swings it open, the sound echoing through the empty space of the ice rink. The keys in his hand jangle loudly against the metal as well, and Yuuri is quick to clasp a clammy palm around the cool surface of the keys in order to muffle the sound. He isn’t sure why he’s bothered to stifle his noises--besides him, no one occupies the rink. It’s well into the evening, but Yuuri had decided that spending his time skating was much more preferable than dodging another round of well-intentioned questions from his family and Minako, who had hardly left his side since he’d returned to Hasetsu. 

He knows they mean well, though. And he can hardly blame them after his 5 years of absence. Minako and his mother had even organized a small welcoming party earlier that same night, eager to pull Yuuri out of his shell and mingle with old friends. Still, as much as Yuuri enjoys having enjoyed to have(?) the chance to see more most(?) of the people he’d missed, the timing was a bit...unfortunate. He had felt far too out of it to do more than field off questions about his skating experience and studying abroad, well aware of the fact that all of them had questions about the last months. Questions he didn’t want to answer, not back then, not now and not ever. 

(“Yes, it was fun,” is all he says when Yuuko asks him whether he enjoyed his time in Detroit. “Maybe,” he mumbles, dodging, when Yuuko’s triplets question whether or not he can get them all tickets for ‘the next time he competes’.)

It hadn’t been long before Yuuri had quietly excused himself, grateful that his ‘Kyushu-bred-and-born’ father happily staged a drunken show for their guests, giving him the opportunity to snatch his bag and skates from his room before heading out into the night. 

It had been an odd feeling, returning home after spending so much time away. Hasetsu did not change much, aside from the addition of an escalator to the train station (which Yuuri was more than grateful for), so most of the sights were familiar. After everything that happened there had been no better and more comforting feeling than the one of finally coming back home. Yuuri had basked in the warm, peaceful feeling for maybe two minutes, until Minako-sensei had popped up, taking him by surprise and dragging him home without further ado.

Since then he had felt sort of disoriented again, the chaos of all the different emotions inside his head returning with an unexpected force, forming an unhealthy bond with his jetlagged, tired mind. Last but not least, being the center of everyone's attention at Yutopia had sent him into what felt like a continuous spiral of stress. So he had fled, choosing to return to the one and only place and way he knew to calm himself down.

Now, Yuuri sighs and finally moves to click on the rink’s light, shivering slightly when the first wave of cold air coming from the ice hits him. However, he pauses, silently eyeing the sight of his sanctuary bathed in soft moonlight. After a moment longer, Yuuri changes his mind, his hand falling away from the light switch. _It’s so peaceful,_ Yuuri thinks. _I didn’t get many chances to skate like this in Detroit._

He’d rarely had the ice to himself while studying abroad, with so many skaters occupying the rink during the day, and its doors locked tightly against any nighttime intruders. But Yuuri is familiar with _this_ rink, and he fancies that it’s familiar with him too. He’s more than grateful to Yuuko and Takeshi for trusting him so implicitly with the Ice Castle’s keys, despite his five year absence. 

“Here, Yuuri!” Yuuko had said during a lull in the party, neatly tucking her legs underneath her as she’d joined Yuuri at his table. A large glass of beer had balanced precariously in her left hand, and with the other, Yuuko had thrust a glinting set of keys towards Yuuri’s face. “A welcome home gift.” Her whisper had sounded solemn, a serious tone contrasting the happy glow of alcohol shining on her cheeks. “If you ever feel the need to, uh, get away like in old times, you’re welcome to use this at any time. It’s your old spare copy. Just promise me you’ll lock up before you go?” He had been too stunned to say much more than “Thank you, Yuuko”, getting a playfully huffed “Yuuri, why so formal? Call me Yu-chan, please!” in return, before she had turned to care for one of her sleepy daughters, carrying the girl to one of the quieter back rooms.

With a slightly lopsided smile, Yuuri lets his bag’s strap slip from his shoulder to flop down to the side of the bench next to him as he takes another moment to fully appreciate the peaceful loneliness of his former home rink, empty of any of its familiar occupants. Yuuko had offered him sanctuary at a moment when Yuuri had thought he’d be swept under by the festivities, and it was something he was more than happy to take advantage of. It wasn’t the first time she had done it either--offer him a place where he felt safe, that is. Just the sight of her smile had dug up a countless number of memories, not all of them pleasant, which left him with an all too familiar conflicted feeling in his chest. He had to talk to her sometime soon and tell her. But not right now.

For now, he had come to skate, and to clear his mind of everything else _but_ the ice. The rink seems to beckon to him as Yuuri lifts up one leg to judge the feel of his skating boots against his feet, and he spares it a single glance before plopping his foot back down to retie the laces. The click of the skate guards against the concrete is satisfying, so he does it a few more times. Yuuri smiles again when he finally walks himself over to the rink’s entrance and tugs off his skate guards to carefully place them to one side. 

The weight of the skates on his feet have already become all too welcome a sight and feeling. He can’t imagine a time without the feel of the ice sliding underneath him, and he chuckles when he remembers that, a long time ago, there had been a small boy who couldn’t have imagined himself on the ice at all. Yuuri flexes his toes in the boots, feeling the thick wool of his socks stretch with them. It had been the combined efforts of Minako and Yuuko that led him to his first time skating on the ice. 

However… his _love_ for skating hadn’t blossomed due to Minako or Yuuko. Even now, when Yuuri closes his eyes, he can still picture the grainy television image of short, silvery hair, bright blue-green eyes and a charismatic smile--the very first glimpse his 10 year old self had ever catched of the famous Russian skater’s striking features. The unrivaled amount of talent which had made him incredibly famous in the hearts of fans across the globe was not to be forgotten either. A feeling which did not, of course, exclude Yuuri. He’d never forget the first program Yuuko made him watch when they were kids, the silver haired skater moving gracefully to the beautiful music accompanied by foreign (Italian, Yuuko had explained) words -- ironically it was the best and also last program Victor Nikiforov ever performed on the ice. Watching his various earlier skating programs, as grainy and low quality as the videos often were, did nothing to deter the sense of awe that had filled his chest every time he had sat down to look at them during his childhood and teenage years. It didn't matter how old the performances were, his younger self would watch them again and again, soon stopping to keep track of how many times he did nothing more than stare at the screen with awe. But the performance which won Victor his 5th consecutive gold at the Grand Prix Final 13 years ago would always have a special place in his heart, having been his sole reason for taking up ice skating in the first place. 

Yuuri flinches when he thinks back to a winter day so many years ago but unforgotten, not long after he and Yuuko had watched Victor's record breaking performance at the Grand Prix Final together. A soft blanket of snow had covered his home and the whole city of Hasetsu. The peaceful morning had been broken by Yuuko’s tears as she’d barreled through Yu-Topia’s entrance, clutching a damp and near frozen newspaper to her chest, the words “tragic loss for the ice skating community” headlined in bold print at the front of it's sports section. His own, still new and fairly fragile desire to skate had nearly collapsed into nothing then, erasing all the progress he’d made the weeks prior at the Ice Castle's skating hours for kids. Not only had he lost his idol so soon after discovering his existence that day, but also his entire inner drive and motivation for ice skating.

His eyes snap open almost instantly at the memory and a thin sheen of sweat on his skin cools unpleasantly in the chilled air of the ice rink. _27 is quite a young age..._ Yuuri thinks, wiping suddenly clammy hands on his pants.

The last program Victor Nikiforov had ever skated, the one which was most special to him, had been _Stammi Vicino_ , and it was the one routine Yuuri had longed to skate for years. His final months in Detroit had been spent focused wholly on graduating, avoiding all of his regular practice sessions and his fellow rink mates, even Phichit (as well as you can avoid your roommate and best friend, that is). He’d ended things with Celestino almost immediately after failing at the Japanese Nationals, the lacklustre performance and the sobering results only more proof for what Yuuri already knew since the disastrous Grand Prix Finale in Sochi: being a disappointment not only to Celestino but to everyone who had believed in his success.

Even so… he had to somehow fill the months between the sudden end of his most promising and equally most awful skating season and the day he'd return home to Hasetsu. Without any upcoming competitions, Yuuri had had more than enough time to perfect Victor Nikiforov’s very last free program during the rink’s less popular hours, _and_ graduate (not at the top of his class, but still with a GPA he could be proud of. At least it was some proof that all the time and money he and his family spent for his stay in Detroit weren’t completely wasted.).

Yuuri leans against the rink’s entrance, sparing one nervous glance around the area to ensure that no one was watching before stepping in and gliding out into the middle of the rink.

_’The song for his free skate is_ Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare’ Yuuri recalls the soft soothing tone of the figure skating commentator as he’d watched on the Ice Castle’s communal television. _’This program brings out a new dimension in Victor Nikiforov’s performance.’_

He knows it word for word and remembers exactly how Victor looked in almost every frame. Already, he hears the opening notes of the aria, and Yuuri tips his head back as if in supplication before letting his eyes slide shut. His body moves almost on autopilot, completely attuned to moves he’s executed for years in his mind, and for months on end on the ice.

_...Sento una voce che piange lontano..._

Yuuri sighs out, letting his anxieties and anything else that could possibly distract him flow out in that single breath. When he dips, he moves to kneel towards his nonexistent audience, before neatly turning in a gentle circle, arms raised above him entreatingly.

The first time Yuuri had ever seen Victor skate, he had been entranced. Not so much with the skater himself at first, but with his ability to perform on the ice. To convey emotions through his body and his movements in a way he only ever knew from dancing performances until then. It was a sight that had only strengthened his resolve to become a figure skater. To not only perform in a similar, but in an even better way someday and tell stories full of different emotions on the ice himself. After watching Stammi Vicino on television he had nagged Yuuko endlessly about showing him all of Victor’s earlier performances, eager to watch and study all of them in detail. Then, later, he had tried to dig up each and every old magazine article about the Russian's skating career. Being a big Victor Nikiforov fan for some years already Yuuko had been a great help, happily sharing her own collection of information with him. His ballet teacher Minako had helped, too, reading Japanese articles to them when there had been too many unknown kanji in the text or translating from English when the articles had come from old international magazines. It took some time to overcome the dreadful news of Victor's accident, but eventually the sadness had given way to an even stronger admiration and idolization of the Russian skater. Still, Yuuri's infatuation with Victor as a person (besides being an incredibly talented skater and performer) had only really developed later in his teenage years, eventually passing Yuuko’s own idolization by far. He’d even devoured Victor’s words from interviews every time he was able, eager to emulate Victor’s confidence and charisma on and off the ice to not only deal with mean classmates, but also with his first anxiety attacks. 

_Not that that worked out very well for me._ Yuuri sighs inwardly. _But it was nice to think I could be even a fraction of the skater--and person--that Victor is. Or, I mean… was._

_...Anche, tu sei sato forse abbandonato?..._

_The first quad is coming up,_ Yuuri thinks absently, and part of him tears away from his thoughts to brace for the initial jump. It won’t be a quad, though--Yuuri grimaces, but leaps into the air for a triple and simply pretends that it’s a quad.

When he lands neatly, Yuuri can’t help but smile a little as the announcer in his head sings praise at his perfect ‘quadruple lutz’. It’s a nice thought, and Yuuri resolves himself to spend even more time practicing until he really _can_ land a perfect quad. His mouth tightens as the song in his head continues forth, with the tinny announcer’s voice playing off the speakers of his television proclaiming, _’Here comes Victor’s next quad, his signature move!’_

Yuuri leaps for another triple—and stumbles his landing, his brows furrowing for one long second before he picks himself right up and moves forward, looking wholly unruffled. It’s a facade, of course. There’s a part of him who would have much rather stopped his entire ‘performance’ to spend time working on landing perfect consecutive triples, over and over until being completely sure that he would never mess up again. But for now, he’s skating as Victor skates in his mind’s eye, and Victor Nikiforov would not have let one tiny mistake ruin the rest of his program. 

Still, his heart thunders in his chest, and Yuuri nearly stumbles again as he remembers his weak performance at the Grand Prix Final. It was a moment that felt like it had happened so long ago, and yet… Yuuri recalls each and every dreadful second, each and every fall, as clearly as if it had only happened the day prior.

_Everyone keeps speculating about my plans for the future, even if they don’t say it out loud._ Yuuri thinks silently, and when he presses his hands against his chest, the movement is filled with true anguish.

_Why does everyone act like nothing happened, like I didn’t disappoint everyone and their expectations in me? ‘Shrug it off and next season will be better, you’ll succeed for sure next time! Just believe in yourself, Yuuri!’, that’s what they think. Easier said than done when you just recently proved there’s not much to believe in. Do I even want to try again? Risk another humiliation on international TV? What if I decide to keep skating, and it’s the wrong choice? What if I decide to never skate again, and_ that _ends up being the wrong choice?_ Yuuri’s eyes prickle sharply, and the resolve in his muscles seems to weaken. 

_Victor… did you ever doubt yourself? Did you ever regret skating? How did you deal with pressure? Did it ever get to you too…?_

Yuuri sees Victor in his mind’s eye as his idol moves gently on the ice, eyes moving beseechingly to the invisible heavens before they close, light eyelashes fluttering against pale skin. _Of course you didn’t. You were a natural champion. A winner. I doubt I could ever measure up to even half of your talent._ Yuuri blinks back another wave of stinging tears and skates like he’s in front of an audience of a thousand people, like he’s being broadcasted on televisions around the world, like… like Victor Nikiforov himself is watching, standing to the side in the splendor of his most brilliant and final costume. The light shining on the glitter inlaid on the soft pinks and purples of Victor’s costume is bright in Yuuri’s memory, and when he jumps again, it’s with the thought of an exact image of Victor’s jump.

_...Stammi vicino, non te ne andare..._  
_...Ho paura di perderti..._  
_...Le tue mani, le tue gambe, le mie mani, le mie gambe,..._  
_...e i battiti del cuore..._  
_...si fondato tra loro!..._

Yuuri skates until the edge of the barrier nearly kisses the tips of his skates, and he reaches forth, arms raised as if to embrace a lover. In turn, Yuuri imagines arms raised before him in response as blue-green eyes stare back at him warmly before he darts away.

The hiss of the ice against the metal of his skates rings harshly against his ears, and Yuuri tries to unsuccessfully tug himself away from his thoughts to focus on being more light on his feet. Gentle. Graceful. _Almost as if you’re flying across the ice_ he reminds himself. _I’ve worked so hard to reach this point. But why doesn’t this make me happy anymore? Where did the feeling, the drive go?_ Yuuri scowls before the announcer in his mind reminds him to keep up his dreamlike persona. _What’s the use of working so hard towards something, only to fail right at the end? It’s nothing but exhausting. And I’m so tired._

The swell of the music tugs him once more from his thoughts. _The final jump,_ Yuuri thinks, and he braces himself before he lifts off the ice. The world blurs blessedly around him for one long second, right before his skates touch back down onto the ice with barely a click.

_’He’s landed all his quads!’_ crows the announcer in his mind, and Yuuri lets a smile take over his face again as he glides into a combination spin with the flow of the music’s rising crescendo. The roar of the crowd is clear in his ears, thundering through a vast stadium, the sound ricocheting off the ice and the walls. Yuuri’s eyes fall shut, and he wonders what Victor must have felt during his final performance. _Not that he knew that it was going to be his last,_ Yuuri thinks, the well worn sorrow sinking deep into his chest. _If he had known, I wonder what he would have thought?_

Yuuri clasps his hands onto his forearms as he cocks a leg out into an ending pose, and his chest rapidly rises and falls with his ragged breaths. Now that he’s stopped moving, the sweat chills uncomfortably, sticking his shirt to his skin. Even so, Yuuri can’t hold back a breathless laugh, elated at having skated _Stammi Vicino_ completely from beginning to end. He’s done it before, but… Something about it this time had seemed different, in a good way. _A true final performance,_ Yuuri thinks as he shakes his head to the side to dislodge stray sweat droplets. _Just like..._

“Yuuu~uuri!” an unfamiliar voice suddenly cries out . “That was _amazing!_ ” 

Yuuri nearly topples over, horrified at the thought of being caught skating his idol’s famous free program. “What—“

“The way you skated just now, it was beautiful! It’s like I could _hear_ music flowing from your every move, it was so surreal! Amazing, amazing! Your skating has improved so much!”

Yuuri’s skates cut unnervingly into the ice as he turns, searching for the source of the unknown voice with a thick foreign accent he can’t place at first. When he finds it, though, his heart nearly stops in his chest.

In front of him stands Victor Nikiforov in all his glory: familiar blue eyes and short silver hair, clad in a dark, worn out overcoat with a matching scarf wound neatly around his neck. What was odd about his outfit were his skates-- his boots were covered in a white layer of ice, their blades the same material, clear and ethereal. 

The most uncanny thing out of place, however, is the fact that Victor Nikiforov stands in front of him, looking very much alive, when he was, in fact, supposed to be _dead_.

Yuuri screams, a bloodcurdling shriek that echoes off the rafters and bounces around the wide expanse of the deserted building. He takes one panicked step backwards, and his skates slide wildly underneath him, taking him off balance and sending him falling right on his ass. All the while, Victor stares down at him with a rather human expression of shock plastered on his face.

“A ghost,” Yuuri hoarsely whispers, throat sore and heart pounding from the sudden fear creeping deep into his bones. “A ghost. A ghost! You’re a ghost. Victor Nikiforov’s ghost has come back to kill me for making a mockery of his performance, he’s come back from the dead to take me to the other world—“ Yuuri slams himself face first onto the ice to prostrate himself in front of Victor’s vengeful spirit. “Kami-sama, please don’t let me die here, I’m so sorry, I beg of you to save me from this ghost—“

“What?” Victor’s voice cuts through Yuuri’s prayers, and now he looks absolutely perplexed. “I… wait. Wait! What did you call me? What is a Yurei?”

“I—what?” Yuuri sits up and stares at him, eyes round, unable to process the meaning of the question or the fact that Victor’s ghost apparently can understand his garbled Japanese. Nor that he answers in thickly accented English. “Please, don’t kill me, I’m sorry I made a mess of your performance, I swear I didn’t mean any harm—“

“’Make a mess’?” Victor echoes again, looking absolutely dumbfounded. “Of my what? I don’t know what you’re talking about because it looked more than fine to me, and I—I’m sorry, but... can you _see_ me?”

“Y-yes,” Yuuri whispers through a constricted throat. “I can see you.” He can feel his face paling under Victor’s unrelenting scrutiny, and Yuuri imagines himself turning as white as a sheet and fainting right then and there on the ice.

Victor merely continues to stare at him, taking in his splayed out position on the floor, and Yuuri stares right back, hands digging into his knees as he prepares to throw himself forward in apology again. When Victor jolts forward with a cry of joy, Yuuri yelps and squeezes his eyes shut. _This is it, this is where he drags me into the afterlife! Goodbye mama, I’ll be with Vicchan now—!_

He lets out a high whimper when he feels bone chilling air rush right through him, and then--nothing. His eyes blink open, and Yuuri quickly considers the fact that he must truly be dead (or sleeping), because how else would he explain the long limbed legs now sticking out of his torso? 

As Yuuri begins to shake violently, from somewhere behind him comes a low, disgruntled grumble.

“What, so I still can’t _touch_ anyone? Wow. Somehow this feels really anticlimactic.”

“P-please move your legs,” Yuuri bites out through chattering teeth, and he winces when Victor gives a little ‘oh!’ of surprise and tugs his feet away from Yuuri’s body. The action gives Yuuri another feeling of his stomach being doused in cold water, and he shudders violently. 

“I’m sorry,” Victor says, looking mournful. He’s kneeling next to Yuuri now, and as much as Yuuri wants to look at him and soak in his features to figure out whether or not this ghost _really is Victor Nikiforov_ , he’s simultaneously recounting in silence any detail about ghosts he recalls from memory, wholly convinced that looking into a dead person’s eyes couldn’t possibly be a good idea. At all. 

“I’m sorry I skated your program,” Yuuri wheezes, staring resolutely at the ice in front of him. “Please don’t kill me, or drag me anywhere, or--oh my god--”

“Um.” Victor sounds so flabbergasted that Yuuri finally sneaks one tiny glance to take in his idol’s astounded face. “Excuse me? I don’t drag people around. See...” He waves his hand through Yuuri’s shoulder, withdrawing immediately when Yuuri catches his breath and shudders. “Ah, I’m sorry! That wasn’t intentional...well, actually, it was, but honestly, I didn’t want to scare you. Anyway, you see, I can’t touch you, so how could I drag you anywhere? All I wanted to do was thank you for showing me such a beautiful performance. You’ve really come so far--I’m so proud of you!” 

At this, Yuuri’s neck nearly cracks when he whips his head around to look at Victor in a mixture of surprise and confusion. _Beautiful?_ Half a second later, his train of thought flies out of his head again and he leans back and away from the ghost, having found that Victor had scooted even closer into his space. 

“I can’t believe I can’t touch you. Spending who knows how much time alone, and now that someone finally knows I exist, I can’t even touch them? Do you realize how frustrating that is?”

Yuuri skips asking ‘why would you want to touch me anyway?’ in favor of replying, “Ah…no. I guess it must be. I’m sorry?”

“Also, I am _not_ a ghost,” Victor continues flatly, blatantly ignoring Yuuri’s half-hearted attempt at empathy. “ _I_ have magical powers.”

“A mutant ghost then,” Yuuri says stubbornly. “And I’m still convinced you’re here for revenge. Why else should you be?”

“I’m here for y--” Victor begins, before stopping short mid sentence to flop onto his bottom. He kicks a leg out to childishly dig one of his unearthly looking skates into the ice beneath him in a small show of annoyance. “You’re kind of making me want to seek revenge now, you know?” Victor muses, starting to sound oddly amused at the idea. “Should I? I won’t, though. I don’t even know how. And I couldn’t anyway, because it’s you. But _you_ could further convince me if you would skate some more? Maybe the program from earlier? I’d love to see it again!” Victor beams happily, apparently pleased with his proposal.

“No thank you,” Yuuri says bluntly. “I’m not skating anymore.”

“Oh. Like, for tonight? I get it. It’s late and time to sleep and all that. Hm… I don’t think I’ve slept in a while. I know what it is though, for some reason. But I wouldn’t mind accompanying you, you know? Now that you’re finally back home! I could watch over you while you’re sleeping, not that I would _watch_ you, unless you’re okay with that--”

“Victor!” Yuuri cuts in, feeling aggravated. “No one’s watching anyone! Not sleeping, a-and especially not skating, because I--”

“Wait,” Victor interjects, “how do you know my name?”

Yuuri pauses, startled. Victor doesn’t look like he’s joking, though, and suddenly it feels as if Yuuri’s feeling the sharp sting of the ice through his clothes for the first time. Victor looks like _Victor_ , he realizes, but also… not. This Victor looks… cold. Almost frozen. At second glance, there’s definitely a hint of frost on his coat and scarf. And a silvery sheen at the tips of his already light hair. When Victor leans in even closer, Yuuri can see the blue sheen intertwined within the strands. It’s odd--they don’t look stiff, like hair should look when frozen over, but…

“What?” Victor asks, sounding impatient for the first time since he’d appeared in front of Yuuri. “Hello? Yuuri?”

“You’re… just _Victor._ ” Yuuri blinks, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart. As much as Yuuri tries to keep a clear head, his subconsciousness seems to have other plans, currently reacting to one fact only: _the_ Victor Nikiforov, Russian skating legend and his long time idol, is sitting just a few inches away from him, staring openly and questioningly into his eyes. 

“Of course I know your name. Because you’re Victor.”

“All I’m hearing is my name over and over,” Victor says, pouting. “That doesn’t solve anything.”

“It’s because you’re… w-well,” Yuuri says, cutting himself off, and in an attempt to change the subject, goes, “How do _you_ know my name?”

This time, Victor visibly pauses, and regards Yuuri with an unreadable stare. Then, Yuuri can only watch, dumbstruck, as Victor’s mouth turns up into a heart shaped smile, accompanied with an overly exaggerated shrug. “Because you’re Yuuri!’” Victor says gleefully. “So of course I know your name. Because you’re just my Yuuri.” He blinks at Yuuri mischievously as if daring the younger man to refute his words, and Yuuri stares again, mouth falling open.

“You know what? I’m going to bed. This is probably a dream and it’s getting stranger by the minute, or if you’re a ghost, maybe you’ll have passed onto the other world by morning--”

“I’m not a ghost.”

“--and you’ll be happy, and I’ll be happy, and I won’t have to face anything this scary for the rest of my life.”

“You think I’m scary?” 

Yuuri turns to regard Victor’s mournful stare, and his own heart gives a little stuttering jolt in his chest. _Uh oh._ Ghost or not, Victor is _still_ Yuuri’s childhood idol. _Don’t forget teenage crush,_ a little voice in his mind whispers, and Yuuri does his best to fight down the blush he feels rising on his cheeks. “No. Sorry, you’re not scary.”

“Okay,” Victor says, appeased and smiling his heart-shaped smile again. A smile Yuuri didn’t see in any interviews or on posters ever, which only confuses him more. That’s his idol and at the same time...it’s not, not the person he knows from the media. Yuuri’s eyebrows dart up to his hairline when Victor floats right off the ice when he stands, and he feels the smallest of chills when Victor’s hand settles right above his shoulder.

“I thought you couldn’t touch me?”

“I can’t,” Victor admits, “but there’s nothing wrong with pretending. If I could, though, I’d give you an amazingly wonderful hug! I can’t remember what it’s like to hug someone, but I’m sure if I could, it would be a spectacular embrace!”

“Oh,” Yuuri squeaks and shuffles two small steps away, thinking for the first time that, maybe, it’s better that Victor can’t touch anything or anyone, then. He flinches a little when Victor automatically reaches for him, his hand sinking down through Yuuri’s shoulder for the second time this evening right before he gets out of reach. A hug would have been a bit much, a great bit too much to handle for him at the moment. He’s still not that fond of physical demonstrations of friendliness coming from close friends or family, getting a hug from his supposed to be dead long time idol would surely give him a heart attack. 

“Oops,” Victor says mildly embarrassed, laughing awkwardly and taking a step back, keeping a small distance for the time being.

Yuuri blinks confusedly at him for a second longer, before turning away and all but dragging his skates through the ice to get to the rink’s entrance. _Bed,_ he thinks blankly, refusing to make anymore eye contact with his idol’s ghost. Or not-ghost? If Victor wasn’t a ghost, then what was he? _Bed,_ Yuuri thinks again, almost violently. _I will sleep, then I will figure things out in the morning. Maybe the stress of losing has finally pushed me towards hallucinating? I should probably talk to someone about this._

Victor makes a disgruntled noise when Yuuri begins to stride towards the doors. When he pauses, taking an uncertain glance back, Victor offers him another of his smiles and _skates_ next to where Yuuri stands and then right through the rink barrier, to position himself between Yuuri and the exit.

“May I walk you home?” 

“What? _N-No!_ ” Yuuri splutters, wide-eyed and now it’s Victor’s time to visibly flinch. Just thinking about Victor suddenly floating through his room sends Yuuri into another fright. And the posters! Oh god, the posters! His room still looks like he left it 5 years ago, nearly every spot decorated with pictures of the man right before him. He stares at Victor’s face with no little amount of horror--there was absolutely _no way_ he could allow the other man into the room. 

Victor clears his throat, and before Yuuri can explain himself, there’s another flood of words from him. 

“Listen, Yuuri. I apologize if I frightened you. Or overstepped. When I’m excited I tend to...forget myself and go a bit over the top. It’s a bit much to take in, I can see that. I’m just so happy that anyone, no, that _you_ can see me, I truly am and I… I meant every word I said earlier. You skated beautifully. Mesmerizing. Maybe it’s weird to say I got chills, but it’s true nevertheless.” His expression changes, and it’s deep-rooted sadness Yuuri can read in Victor’s gaze. “Will you come here tomorrow and meet me again? You don’t need to skate if you don’t want to. Just to talk for a bit? Just don’t...abandon and ignore me? You’re the only person to ever see me in what feels an eternity, so - please? ” 

Yuuri listens quietly, and after trying to withstand the sad puppy-eyed look Victor wears on his face, he resigns with a sigh. _This is nothing but a dream in a dream after all. How could I let an opportunity slip to make Victor Nikiforov happy? Even if he’s an imagined Victor who can understand Japanese, knows my name, likes my skating and... god, Yuuri, you’re going mad. Bed. I need to get in my bed and sleep. Now._

“Okay,” is all Yuuri finally says. “Tomorrow morning. But for now I need to go home. And you can’t follow me back home. That’s my condition.”

Fortunately, Victor seems to be pleased with their agreement and glides aside, giving way to him. When Yuuri sneaks a last glance in passing, Victor looks at him with another beaming smile. Strangely, his heart begins to fill with yet another emotion, slowly replacing his initial confusion and fear. Happiness? Contentment? At least, it’s nice to dream of something enjoyable for a change after months alternating between restless nights with barely any sleep and nightmares, Yuuri muses. _Maybe I should hold onto this kind of dream._ He’s forcing himself to not look back at the rink where Victor still stands, silently watching him go. _After all, it’s Victor Nikiforov._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A (not so) small note from the one with the crazy brain and ideas:
> 
> First, I want to apologize that it took so long to get this chapter done and up. I take all the blame because I never expected a silly plot bunny to develop into a full blown multi chapter fic with so much more plot details and different layers. It’s my first time doing creative work again since a decade and it took a bit of time for me to get everything together. But I can assure you, the whole main plot draft is written down since a while and it’s just a matter of time and real life issues to get the next chapters finished.
> 
> Talking about real life: we **don’t** have a schedule for the next chapter updates and there will be no such schedule in the future, I’m afraid. To bring this story to life in a collaboration is such an exciting and rewarding experience, but it also means some more work and revising. Unfortunately, Kaizuka and I live in different parts of the earth (with a 9 hour time difference), then there’s the fact that English isn’t my first language (it’s always a bit exhausting for me to write all the chapter details down and it also takes more time) and last but not least we’re both busy with school and work in our everyday life. BUT: We I want to get this story done and we will. ♥
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story so far! It’s only the beginning and there’s so much more to come, I tell you! Feel free to talk to us on Tumblr ([TalesofNonsense](http://talesofnonsense.tumblr.com) and [kaizuka](https://tadacchi.tumblr.com)) if you liked what you read or if you have any questions and/or thoughts about the story! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Nons
> 
> **P.S.**  
>  There’s a link to a Child of the Moon Spotify playlist in the beginning notes of the chapter. The playlist is meant to be sort of an accompanying OST. As for now it only consists of 3 songs, but it will grow in time with every chapter we add. All songs are carefully selected to fit the chapters they accompany in some way, sometimes because of the music itself, sometimes because of the lyrics. I hope you like them and that they’ll convey the different moods of some scenes for you as much as they do for me!
> 
>  
> 
> **Accompanying songs:**
> 
>  
> 
> By Night (by Sophie Hutchings) for the first half of the chapter/Yuuri’s feelings/POV.  
> Déjà loin – Live (by Yann Tiersen) for the second half of the chapter, Frost!Victor’s feelings/POV and the entire meeting part.
> 
> **Translations and other information:**  
>  _Sento una voce che piange lontano_  
>  _Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_  
>  _Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_  
>  _Ho paura di perderti_
> 
>  
> 
> _Le tue mani, le tue gambe,_  
>  _le mie mani, le mie gambe,_  
>  _e i battiti del cuore_  
>  _si fondato tra loro!_
> 
>  
> 
> I hear a voice weeping in the distance  
> Have you maybe been abandoned as well?  
> Stay close to me, don’t go away  
> I’m afraid of losing you
> 
> Your hands, your legs,  
> My hands, my legs,  
> And our heartbeats  
> Are blending together 
> 
> **Yurei**
> 
> According to traditional Japanese beliefs, all humans have a spirit or soul called a reikon. When a person dies, the reikon leaves the body and enters a form of purgatory, where it waits for the proper funeral and post-funeral rites to be performed, so that it may join its ancestors.  
> However, if the person dies in a sudden or violent manner, if the proper rites have not been performed, or if they are influenced by powerful emotions, the reikon is thought to transform into a yūrei, which can then bridge the gap back to the physical world. The yūrei then exists on Earth until it can be laid to rest, persisting in its haunting if the rituals are not completed or the conflict left unresolved. (excerpt of wikipedia).


End file.
